I doubt it.
She looked beautiful, standing there in the cold street, her eyes red-rimmed and her mascara streaked under her eyes. She’d been crying. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. If there was anything I could do to help. I wanted to hold her.Fuck, how I wanted to hold her.
Instead, I stood there like a robot, spouting inane small-talk and asking her how she was when I could see she was upset.
I open my messages and pull up her contact, fingers hovering before I type. I have never wanted to reach out more than I do right now, and believe me, I’ve wanted to do it many times.
We’ve had no contact since she told me how the launch of her online course went, but she has never been far from my mind.
I touch a fingertip to the screen to type something, anything, and then I remember her words.
You’ll be a terrible father, and I’ll be a terrible friend.
Swear it to me. That this will never happen again.
This is the last time.
No repeats.
Pain drives through my chest. I bow my head, unable to catch my breath.
“Rafe?” Melanie is standing by the table. “Are you all right?”
I click off my phone and shove it into my pocket, wondering how much I can share with this woman.
She might be a friend now, but she wasn’t always. She never reduced her price on the damn Castow deal, and I never pushed for it. We were stuck in a stalemate, both too stubborn to meet in the middle. But, somehow, regardless of the business side of things, we ended up seeing more of each other. At first, our interactions were what you might call dating, but in reality, were little more than a few social appearances together to keep Henry and Julian off my back.
If I’m honest, spending time with Melanie felt like something I was doing to distract everyone from what I was really feeling.
To distract myself.
It was a mess. I tried to plaster over a wound I refused to acknowledge, but it was clear very quickly that it wasn’t going anywhere between Melanie and me. Attempting any sort of relationship with her was like trying to squeeze back into a suit I’d outgrown. It was impossible. We never even kissed. I was hung up on Diana, and Melanie, for all her brusque, business-like etiquette, is emotionally astute. She knew almost immediately that I wasn’t available for anything more.
She was patient with me, although I gave her very little insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time. I know there are people in my life hoping I might settle down, but it was never going to happen with Melanie.
Even tonight, seeing her standing there, an undeniably attractive woman dressed to the nines, gazing at me with concern, I feel nothing. No stirring of appreciation.Nothing. Whereas catching a glimpse of Diana, hearing her voice, seeing her face so close and yet being unable to touch her, kiss her, has upended my emotional control. I am hanging on by a thread.
“Rafe?” Melanie repeats. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet ever since we got out of the car. I thought you were okay before we arrived, and then…” She sighs. “Do you need to talk?”
My phone is warm in my pocket, and the ache of not allowing myself to contact her is a bruise on my heart.
God, I’m pathetic. How could I explain this to someone else? How can I be emotionally involved with a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with me?
I can’t talk about this. I barely even want to admit it to myself.
“No.” The word is sudden and brutal.
Melanie steps back, tucking her chin and raising an eyebrow. I’ve never spoken to her sharply, and she doesn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my hands over my eyes. “I know I’ve been terrible company tonight. But I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.”
She nods and eases into the booth opposite me in slow motion, as if she’s giving me a chance to tell her to leave, placing her handbag and coat beside her on the banquette. “I’m a good listener,” she says cautiously. “If you need.”
I shake my head. The only thing I need is Diana.
As Melanie props her elbows on the table, I play out a scenario in my head: I’d get in the car and show up at Diana’s door. Maybe she’d smile. Maybe she’d kiss me. Maybe she’d let me in. Maybe we’d have sex, and she’d realise she wants me more than she wants to protect my daughter from the devastation of finding out that we betrayed her.
A melancholy smile touches my lips.
